


I (Can) Believe It's Not Turkey!

by senorito



Category: Magisterium Series - Holly Black & Cassandra Clare
Genre: Call cares way too much about lichen, Gen, M/M, its like 'i hate u I love u' with him, turkey- everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 00:42:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8644687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senorito/pseuds/senorito
Summary: “Cheer up a little bit. God! It’s Thanksgiving, there’s a lot of hot girls around, the Enemy-” he leaned over and poked Call now, oh god, Jasper would have hell to pay for poking Call, Tamara could already tell- ”is dead,  and you two Makars need to stop moping around and go talk to people.” He pointed behind his shoulder. It looked like there was a line forming of wealthy people showing up to see the Makaris. Tamara could see some extremely famous mages, too, like those two authors Cassandra Clare and Holly Black, and- was that Cam Newton? The Panthers weren’t doing so great this year, and Tamara lived in the outskirts of D.C.- but still. Wicked.
Or; Iron, Copper, and Bronze Year Thanksgivings with Tamara, lichen, fluff, real turkey, and angst





	

The last few years, Tamara had known some good and (really) terrible Thanksgivings. 

 

Normally, because the Rajavis were one of the richest families on the East Coast, and were definitely known for their incredible (boring) parties, as far back as Tamara could remember, Thanksgiving had always been celebrated in style at the Gables, with anyone who could further her parent’s status invited, and with tables so lavishly set with foods that had been created with magic (so that they tasted _perfect_ , of course- how could it been otherwise?), that they literally groaned, and there was somehow always thousands of leftovers that Tamara’s parents kindly donated to the orphanages in the days after- but then Tamara was an Iron Year. The twelve year olds weren’t allowed to leave the Magisterium and go back to their families until they passed the First Gate. No holidays at home or anything. Thanksgiving or Christmas break- nope.   
The Refectory tried to compensate, of course.   
But flinging turkey-flavored lichen at Jasper just wasn’t as fun when Tamara could have been chucking an actual wishbone at him. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Call was so grumpy about the lichen, Tamara thought it was a wonder he hadn’t starved to death by now, three months into having it for meals, three times a day. Aaron was gulping it down, looking like it was some sort of miracle of the mushroom culinary arts. Honestly, it was... okay. Not incredible, compared to what Albert-Pierre, her mother’s French chef could do, but… okay. 

 

“It’s just, kinda- principle. I _have_ to hate it,” Call muttered, poking the squishy consistency of the algae with a suspicious pinky finger. 

 

“Why?” Aaron asked. “It’s good. You don’t _have_ to hate the lichen. Or you don’t have to eat it at all. I’ll take it.” He started eyeing Call’s plate.

 

“Of _course_ I have to hate it. And, yes, I am going to eat it. It’s like Jasper,” Call continued. He shoved the plate back towards him and started stuffing his face.

 

Tamara raised an eyebrow at him questioningly. “How does this lichen relate to Jasper? I mean- annoying, yeah, I get- but- how is Jasper is stuffing-flavored?” 

 

Aaron frowned from a third helping of the turkey. “Yeah, dude. You have to explain your similes.”

 

Call choked on his corn-pudding- _stuff._ “What is a _simile?_ Never mind. I don’t know… or care.”

 

Tamara sighed. “It’s something about when you are comparing one thing to another thing. Honestly. You should have learned that in, like, third grade. Spill! How the crap is Jasper like lichen?” 

 

Leaning into their stone table, Call stage-whispered, “To be honest, _I have no idea.”_ Aaron was staring at Call and making a face like he was trying not to laugh, but only half succeeding. He let out some sort of demented giggle. “Maybe, because… um, wow, this is hard… um…” He sat up straight. “I got it! Lichen is annoying as well as a jerkazoid because it imitates _real food_ , but is nothing but weird mage-made GMOs, and Jasper is like the human equivalent of that!” 

 

Tamara leaned _waaaay_ back onto the bench, and raised an eyebrow at him and Aaron- Call because he was _Call_ and acting as weird as he normally did, and Aaron because he was nodding like this finally made perfect sense.  
It didn’t.

 

After a minute, though, and after he managed to shove some more turkey-lichen down his throat (Tamara had no idea how he had managed to eat so much), Aaron frowned slightly. “Wow. This just got uncomfortably _deep_.”

 

Tamara had hardly ever agreed with a statement more.

 

Which was the perfect time for Jasper to stand up from Master Milagros’ table, stretch, and glide over to theirs. “ _What_ just got deep?” 

 

“Your face,” she muttered. Always worked.

 

“Not really thinking so. I mean, pretty sure you would _feel it_ if your face suddenly got deep.” 

 

“Or not. Whatever.” Greatest comeback ever, Tamara, she thought. _Pure_ genius. So she decided to make up for it by shoving some lichen up into his face.

 

“Hey!” Jasper protested. For a second, everything went silent. Aaron stared at her with something that looked a bit like a combination of extreme laughter and extreme horror, even though she had already splattered Jasper with the crap before, less than 2 months ago, and at Call with a bit of, disturbingly, awe. 

 

And then someone yelled “FOOD FIGHT!” and (metaphorical) chaos descended on the Refectory. Drew eventually got blamed for starting it. All the Iron Years were sent back to their rooms for continuing the fight, stained and licheny all over. Nearly everyone headed straight to the wash grottos for showers, and the kids who didn’t were the sort who usually didn’t shower more than once a week anyway, so it wasn’t a _huge_ loss…   
Only later, due to Jasper’s complaints, did Tamara realize the lichen she had splattered on Jasper was turkey-flavored. Somehow, that seemed fitting. 

 

~~~~~~~

 

Copper Year’s Thanksgiving was- _okay._ The three of them and Jasper (plus Havoc, of course!), were forced to go to a feast at someone’s mansion. No lichen, but Tamara knew the family, the Cutlers, and they weren’t as wealthy or as influential as hers. But there had been some bidding for host rights, and they got it- so the four of them hard been ‘invited’ to go.   
They had come back to the Magisterium barely four days before with Constantine’s head, and even though Tamara was used to this sort of thing, being best friends with Aaron and seeing all the events he had been forced to go through the summer before, it was weird how everyone insisted on treating them like heroes- when, she was reminded, every time she looked at Call, even if she tried not to, _that they weren’t._ Master North had had to go ‘talk’ to Alastair for his permission to allow Call to come. But Tamara wanted to forget all that and lose herself in turkey that was not lichen. 

 

At least the food was one thing the Assembly had gotten right. Otherwise-? They were all too thankful for the grisly present of Constantine’s head- complete with gray lint and an orange LifeSaver stuck to his cheek- and the party reflected it. 

 

Someone had even made a bunch of pumpkin pies, cut, ostensibly, in the shape of a severed head.  
Tamara thought they were disgusting, and judging from Call’s (already really pale) bleached face, he thought so, too.

 

~~~~~~

 

Typically, the grossness of having the emblem of the Enemy’s head everywhere didn’t stop Aaron from filling up. Tamara glanced at him as he shoved- was it his third helping _already?_ \- down his throat. It was weird. Normally, Aaron didn’t eat this much.  
Well, it _was_ Thanksgiving,  
But still… 

 

Jasper swaggered over and muttered, _“Dude._ Do you ever stop eating?” He vaguely poked Aaron in the shoulder. 

 

It didn’t look like it hurt _that_ much, but Aaron swatted his hand away and mumbled, “Stop.”  
Call looked up concernedly. Tamara picked at her mashed potatoes. 

 

“Cheer up a little bit. God! It’s Thanksgiving, there’s a lot of hot girls around, the Enemy-” he leaned over and poked _Call_ now, oh god, Jasper would have hell to pay for _poking_ Call, Tamara could already tell- ”is _dead,_ and you two Makars need to stop moping around and go _talk_ to people.” He pointed behind his shoulder. It looked like there was a line forming of wealthy people showing up to see the Makaris. Tamara could see some extremely famous mages, too, like those two authors Cassandra Clare and Holly Black, and- was that Cam Newton? The Panthers weren’t doing so great this year, and Tamara lived in the outskirts of D.C.- but still. _Wicked._  
“Call especially. Anyway, I hate to tell you this,” but being Jasper, even being a relatively _nicer_ Jasper, he didn’t sound that sorry, “Graves pretty much forced me to come over and tell the three of you to go introduce yourselves, _or else,_ so- yeah. I figure you had better do it.” And he darted off. 

 

Tamara noticed he wasn’t being forced to meet old stalker-type mages that smelled like garlic and bad cologne when they tried to shake your hand. Aaron stood up, like he was going to ask about Jasper being forced to (metaphorically) kiss babies, too, but he had already disappeared into the crowd.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Last year’s ‘celebration’ had been delightfully dull and calm. Happy, even. God knew all the other mages were grinning at the Enemy’s ‘death.’ Bronze Year, though- 

 

Tamara was wrecked. To say the least. Her parents had taken her back to the Gables _that night,_ after her world blew itself up around one flash of copper-colored light. She had collapsed on the floor of her public school-gymnasium-sized room, anguished, exhausted, drained, _sobbing._ The next morning, Tamara had woken up, completely a tear-stained, puffy-eyed, cold sweat mess, took a shower, braided her hair, and not shed a drop since. 

 

She had simply decided; _no.  
I won’t. _  
Tamara had only allowed herself ten hours of grief for Aaron’s death. Only ten hours of hopelessness for Call being locked up in the Panopticon; from the moment Aaron hit the ground, rapidly cooling, and Call was shackled, through the horrible hour-long inquiry, her mother and father picking her up via air elemental, and eight long hours of staring at the ceiling, replaying _every single one_ of her failures, and finally keeling over due to exhaustion.   
After that?   
Nothing. Nothing at all. Tamara just felt- _numb._ Her parents kept her at home. “Thanksgiving’s coming up in about a week and a half. Why don’t you just stay here? Help set up. Then, we’ll see.” Tamara had just nodded silently and kept walking, walking past her mother, past the ‘festive’ fall decorations that lined the dining room and the hallways, walking nowhere, not to resurrect Aaron or free Call, and definitely _not_ to go ‘help set up.’ 

 

She didn’t feel like being helpful when a fourteen year-old _boy_ was in maximum-security prison based on hearsay, no matter if it was true, and the fact that the people who put him there were coming for Thanksgiving was the reason Tamara had to go ‘set up.’ No way. Teenage rebellion! Maybe she should go get a bunch of signs and go protest about Call and poultry cruelty in front of the Monument or something! _‘LET HIM GO! FREE RANGE TURKEYS! #ONLYFOURTEEN! CRUELTY TO ANIMALS IS UNACCEPTABLE!’_ Or, not. Tamara didn’t really care about poultry rights, and she couldn’t exactly march up to the Washington Monument protesting something that was done by a _magical_ government. It would have been nice if Tamara could’ve, though. At least, then, she could feel like she was doing _something_ to help. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Nine days later, Tamara didn’t feel any more helpful. The entire mansion was scurrying around, the maids re-dusting again, the cooks up to their ears in food, and her parents playing the perfect hosts and welcoming all the the partygoers with a pristine graciousness that, from the other side of the glass, Tamara wondered at how paper-thin it was. Assemblyman Graves came alone, Anastasia Tarquin arrived in a flurry of elegant white furs, odd winks and nods, strange connections to the Madden brothers and Joseph Walther, and many secrets, and, surprisingly, it seemed like Master Rufus had been invited. No Alastair Hunt. Tamara wasn’t that surprised. After all, Aaron was dead and Call imprisoned and Alex was an evil Makar, and all the while, Tamara put a pretty knit dress on, Kimiya came back to Arlington from Luray, Ravan had never existed, and Mother and Father smiled and sat all their powerful guests down at their gigantic Thanksgiving table.

**Author's Note:**

> Btw, because I didn't make this clear in the fic, as a side piece of angst, the reason Aaron always stuffed himself beyond anyone else was because that was his first real Thanksgiving turkey, lichen or not. (Why do I have to be so depressing?) 
> 
> Anyways, you can find my Tumblr: tamararajaviforpresident2020 . With the election- I know she's got my vote.


End file.
